Ireland - Final Thoughts

As we sit in the Shannon airport waiting for the next six hours for our flight to London, here’s a few final, random thoughts on the country of Ireland:

The people we’ve encountered here have been exceptionally nice and helpful.  EVERY clerk that has taken my euros in exchange for goods and services has looked me in the eye and said "thank you."  The Irish are very proud of their country, and they're glad to share it with others.  Even the few people we met that were a little flinty still had a twinkle in their eyes that took the edge off.  The people we stayed with were gracious and went out of their way to ensure we had everything we needed.

If an Irishman thinks you’re well equipped for the task at hand, he’ll say that, “You’ll be grand."  Our taxi driver in Dublin told me that I would be grand driving the car in Ireland—I was not grand.

Traffic islands in the roadways are called traffic calming—I loved traffic calming.

All signs are written in Gaelic and English—our favorite Gaelic road sign was GO MALL, which means go slow in English.

Most people in Ireland offer a “You’re welcome” before you’ve had a chance to say "Thank you."

Litter is nonexistent in Ireland.

The countryside is impossibly green just like everyone says, and the stone walls are just as charming in real life as they are in the picture books.

The garbage cans are called bins, and the garbage man is the bin man.

I’ve had mostly instant coffee for ten days, but stirred with the fresh cream of Ireland, even this coffee snob can’t tell the difference.

I wish we had Supervalu grocery stores in the US.

Every grocery store and petrol station has inexpensive soft-serve ice cream—it’s very good.

There is a tour company here called The Paddy Wagon, and it has huge bright green motor coaches emblazoned with giant leprechauns.  I bet the poor bloke that drives one of those gets a lot of ribbing from his buddies in the pub.

To operate the residential showers in Ireland, one must first pull a cord in the ceiling to activate the circuit to the shower.  The power button in the shower itself must then be pressed to start the flow of water.  I was never very comfortable being surrounded by water and electricity, and I took quick showers.

The water heaters look like four-foot ceramic pastel hornets' nests.

Like Americans, the Irish love their sports.  The Gaelic Athletic Association is huge here and has many facets.  Hurling is a wildly popular sport in Ireland, and it’s been played for over 3000 years—I had never heard of it.  It looks like a combination of lacrosse, soccer, rugby, and hockey, and it is highly entertaining.  I was fortunate enough to tune into a match one night and was hooked immediately.

One needs a license to have a television in Ireland.

I always ask my crew at the end of every adventure, “What was your favorite thing?”  Deena, Deveny, and Joseph all chose the Dingle Peninsula, and it was my close second.  The wild, ancient mystery of the Burren stirred my soul the most, and it will officially be my favorite thing in Ireland.

We encountered some challenges as we toured this beautiful green country, but we persevered and had a lot of good times with great people.  Even though Ireland is a modern country, it still has an ancient and wild aura that we enjoyed experiencing together.  Jolly old England, here we come!

Ireland - Ballycroy and Achill Island

We left our little apartment in Ennistimon right after breakfast, and we were pleased by the speed and efficiency with which we cleaned up and packed.  The drive to Ballycroy was long, but we were able to take a break after a couple of hours by visiting the Museum of Country Life in Castlebar.  This place had it all:  informative movie, creative displays, cool artifacts, lush gardens, and best of all, free admission!  The focus of the museum was the life of the Irish people during the 19th and early 20th century, and it strongly reminded me of the life I’ve heard and read about from my family’s history in the mountains of Madison County, North Carolina.  

Everything the people of Ireland had during this time came from the land, and people that were proficient at using these resources for practical matters were called “handy.”  A movie described an old Irish word that to my great frustration was unintelligible due to the sound quality of the room, but its meaning was so profound that I sat through the film twice to try to hear it again.  I still couldn’t make it out, but the essence of the word describes an item someone has made that has become blessed, however the word carries a meaning that is much richer in this context.  Say that a farmer needs to dig some peat turves to store up for burning during the cold winter, but the spade he’s been using for a couple of years is splintered and uncomfortable to use.  Without design or blueprint, the farmer sits down with a stick of wood and a sharp knife and fashions a new spade that has a firm handle with just the right curvature to provide more comfort during a long day.  He uses the spade for years, and it becomes smooth and worn with his productive labor, and his family and neighbors know him by the handy use of this tool.  His motivation for using the spade to dig turves is his love for his family and the desire to provide warmth and light for them during the winter.  Over time the spade becomes part of the farmer, and when the people he loves see it sitting in the corner, they think warmly of him and will remember him by it long after he’s gone.  The simple wooden spade has become "blessed."  I remember many of the things sitting in the corners of my grandparents’ house and old tobacco barn in the mountains, and I understand the meaning of this word completely.

Another concept the museum conveyed was the demise of the old trades over the years.  Thatching was the perfect example used to explain how a very important need hundreds of years ago has become a novelty and a luxury item today.  The thatcher and his sons would spend hundreds of man-hours and use tons of straw or reeds to install a roof, and the process they used was fascinating.  Like every trade, it required a focused, practiced, efficient skill that served a major need for a community.  The tradesman made a living by plying his trade, and his customers benefited by receiving a stable, dry roof that would last for decades.  Even though there are still thatchers around, their work has become cost prohibitive and is usually performed at the request of a historical society with grant money to spend.  There are still trades around like framing, plumbing, and painting, but the older trades have died out.

We left the museum having learned much about country life in old Ireland, and we drove one more hour to Ballycroy where we’re staying with John and Mary in their amazing stone house.  We have the whole upstairs to ourselves and free reign in the kitchen downstairs.  Mary is an administrator for Meals-on-Wheels, and John is a contractor working mainly on gutters and boxing on new vacation homes in the area.  He’s been busy lately, and we immediately fell into contractor speak while the wives listened patiently.  John said that he tells Mary to inform his customers no matter what when they call that he has a backlog of, as I chimed in at the same time, six weeks.  We laughed and laughed….sorry, contractor humor.  Needless to say, we hit it off with John and Mary, and we enjoyed hearing about their life with five children, a yard full of sheep, and a view of the Achill Sound that I’m enjoying as I’m typing right now.  John built the house on land given to him by Mary’s father, and he said, “Believe me, I’ve paid for it,” as Mary rolled her eyes.  A major benefit of using AirBnB for lodging is the opportunity to stay with local families and learn about their life.  So far, so good.

Blogging with a view

We decided to spend our last full day in Ireland by touring Achill Island just across the sound from John and Mary’s house.  We all slept in a little later and shared a breakfast of buttery eggs and plump strawberries with fresh cream around the huge oak kitchen table.  Sufficiently fortified, we struck out for Achill Island and crossed the bridge in less than thirty minutes.  Even though Achill is the largest island on the western coast of Ireland, it doesn’t take long to drive the perimeter, and it has some great history and a whole lotta sheep.

My main target for the day was the Kildavent Castle which is a 15th century tower house associated with the O’Malley Clan, a ruling family of Achill.  The most famous member of this clan was Grace O’Malley, also called Granuaile.  Like her seafaring family before her, Grace refused to submit to English rule, and she became a strong leader and gained fame as a sea captain and pirate.  Our hostess, Mary told us about the local tradition that says Queen Elizabeth the First was a secret fan of Grace and granted her a private audience in which she absolved her of any alleged crimes.  I was fascinated by this story and made sure the kids knew all the details about Grace O’Malley, the way-cool Irish pirate chick.  We spent a good bit of time at her tower house, and I even found a geocache on the site, which made it even more fun.  

As we walked back to the car from Kildavent, we stopped to watch a family shearing sheep in their driveway.  As we drove around Achill for next couple of hours, we experienced its quickly changing weather.  While folks back home have sweltered with temperatures in the upper 90s, we’ve enjoyed the lower 70s, but we were father north today, and I doubt the temperature got above 65.  We got out of the car several times to take in the views, and we walked the beach for a while in the area of Keem at the far end of the island.

Grace O'Malley's house

Touring Achill Island

Waterfall in Keem, Lands End

As we drove back to our place in Ballycroy, we spotted one of the most intense complete rainbows we’ve ever seen—the picture below doesn’t do it justice.  Being in Ireland, I’m sure it had a huge pot o’ gold at the end of it with leprechauns waiting there to give it to us.  Sadly, I had to go to the bathroom, and I was racing to get home, so there goes the family fortune—such is life.

Rainbow in Ballycroy

Ireland - Ennistimon

Deena and I cooked up a big breakfast on the first of two mornings in the little village of Ennistimon, located on the edge of the Burren in County Clare.  The sky was overcast in the morning, so we let the kids sleep in a bit and left them to do some schoolwork.  Deena and I went across the street to the library to do some research and print boarding passes for the next stage of the journey.  We love these Irish libraries—helpful staff and reliable internet.  We packed a picnic lunch and headed out to our first target of the day, the Cliffs of Moher. 

 Everyone talks about the cliffs as a must-see, and even the most jaded Irishman has an appreciation for this natural wonder.  I was under the impression that one could just drive up to any point of the coastal walk and start enjoying the cliffs, but it’s set up much like an American national park with a paid entry point and visitor center.  Our admission was only twelve euros—quite a bargain for the wonders we saw here.  The visitor center was informative, and one of the employees even took time to help us plan our afternoon excursion to the Burren.  We hiked about a mile along the cliffs, up north to the O’Brien Tower and back down south below the visitor center.  The cliffs rise to 702 feet at their highest point, and their rugged, curving faces stoutly stand against the relentless Atlantic ocean.  Puffins, peregrine falcons, and other birds make their nests on the faces of the cliffs, and there are huge swirling swarms of gnats all along the paths at the top.  The cliff formations are so massive and unusual that we could see why so many natives speak of them with reverence.  We left the park completely satisfied with the experience even though the walk past the obligatory gift shops was a bit of a buzzkill.  One of them is named, "The Gifts of Moher"—sheesh.

The Cliffs of Moher

Our second target of the day was the Burren which is a vast, rocky national park steeped in ancient history - easily the highlight for me on this day.  The region is known for its huge limestone formations, and there is nowhere else in Ireland quite like it.  The colors of the terrain turned from green to gray the farther we drove on the twisty roads, and we stopped at a couple of pullouts to take some pictures.  J.R.R. Tolkien visited the Burren, and his time here was inspirational.  The landscape is ragged and stony, and on a cloudy day like the one we had, the Burren has a haunted quality; I could imagine banshees swirling among the rock formations.  It is said that the inspiration Tolkien received from his visit here produced many of the settings in the Lord of the Rings.  Being a major Tolkien geek, I began to figure out which scenes from the books could have taken place here:  Weathertop, Tol Brandir, Amon Hen…the wave of disinterest from my passengers was palpable, so I acknowledged that I was traveling with Philistines and drove on.  We spent a lot of time at one of the pullouts that allowed access to the limestone fields, and we enjoyed wending our way through the rocky landscape.  Time and the elements have sculpted the stone into mesmerizing patterns.  In the crevices of the rocks, there are many varieties of blue, yellow, and orange wildflowers that soften the edges.  Through the gusting wind, we could hear the faint bleating of sheep, and on a hillside in the distance we could see a farmer and his dogs working a small herd, separating the animals into tight groups and single-file lines.

The Burren

Irish Princess

My favorite spot in the Burren was the Portal Tomb and its surrounding stone walls.  There is speculation that this settlement is 6000 years old, which places its construction way before the time of the Pyramids in Giza.  The information placards had some excellent timelines on display, and they helped us put all this history into perspective. The tomb itself looks like a miniature section of Stonehenge, and an major excavation in 1986 turned up the remains of thirty three neolithic people along with pottery, tools, and jewelry.  I love the mystery of places like this; there is enough evidence present to form a fairly good idea of how these ancient people lived and died, but it’s up to the imagination of the observer to fill in the gaps.

Portal Tomb

The children slept on the way back to Ennistimon, and I had a big tour coach as a front door for the drive, so it was like having a hulking older brother clearing the road for me, nice.  After a quick trip to the Supervalu, we had a simple dinner and spent the evening relaxing—I was even halfway interested in watching a soccer match.  We’ve enjoyed our quick visit to this area of Ireland which is very different from the places we’ve already seen.  Tomorrow we pack up again and head north to Ballycroy and the Aran Islands.

Ireland - Bunratty Castle

I read about Bunratty Castle before leaving home, and it sounded like a fun, educational place to visit.  We drove there after leaving Kanturk thinking that we needed to see just one more castle to ensure the children had enough castle schooling.  We could see the enormous structure from the motorway, and I started getting excited, but as we drove into the attraction area I started getting worried—it appeared that we were approaching an enterprise that could have been the love child of Carowinds and the Renaissance Festival.  My fears melted away as it turned out to be an affordable and well-run interpretive village that happens to have a big honkin’ castle from the thirteenth century presiding over the whole thing.  We loved it.  We spent the morning touring the castle with its narrow, winding stairs that led to all kinds of chambers and overlooks.  We saw centuries-old tapestries from France and Belgium and sixteenth-century cupboards and tables rounded and worn smooth with age.  Construction on the castle began around 1250, and it had taken its present form by 1450.  There has been a good bit of restoration performed on the castle, so it looks much like it would have five-hundred years ago—the outline of the original moat can still be seen from the top of the main tower.  After our self-guided tour, we went back out to the carpark to have a picnic in the shade of an old oak tree.  We were able to return to the park by just showing the brochure we received upon admission.

We spent the afternoon lazily wandering the paths of the village adjacent to the castle.  The willows and beeches rustled with a fresh breeze that carried the campfire scent of peat burning in the chimneys of the restored houses.  There were chickens roaming free, pigs grunting and rooting in their pens, and goats and mules munching dandelions.  Deena enjoyed seeing the thatched roofs on the homes, while Deveny had fun exploring the fairy village with its colorful little houses perched in the trees.  We sat for a while in the old church and found some nineteenth-century graffiti expertly carved into our pew.  Our visit to the old mill turned out to be the highlight of the afternoon.  The docent there was an elderly gentleman who could barely walk around but was bursting with lore about the mill—delivered with charm and sly wit.  He told us all about the operation of the mill and how the villagers worked together to keep it running for the benefit of the community.  We were hypnotized by his eager lilt, and once he saw he had a captive audience, he quickly had us laughing with a few Paddy and Mary jokes—that’s a thing here in Ireland.

Bunratty Castle

We left Bunratty in good spirits, feeling as if we learned a lot while having fun in the process—always the best combination with children.  We arrived in Ennistimon in less than an hour and quickly found our apartment.  Quite a switch from the Kanturk farmhouse, but it was nicely located right off the main square just across the street from the library.  With a large main area and two separate bedrooms, we had plenty of room to spread out and relax; Deveny quickly claimed the smaller bedroom relegating Joseph to the futon in the living room.  

Wonder of wonders, there was a Supervalu grocery store right up the street, so we took a quick walk over and purchased supplies for the next couple of days.  After supper, Deena sat me down in the middle of the kitchen and gave me the first of many on-the-road haircuts with the crispy new, dual-voltage Conair clippers.  For thirteen years I’ve never let anyone other than the wonderful Darlene from Top-Notch Salon in Matthews cut my hair, but she had helped touch up our first practice attempt and gave Deena some tips for the next time.  Deena did a great job, and I’m typing this post with a smooth new cut.  Hopefully one of the many ways we’ll be saving money during the trip —we just need to somehow coerce Joseph into letting Mom cut his hair.

Ireland - Dingle Peninsula

A blue sunny sky greeted us as we opened the curtains to a new day—the first full sun we’ve had in Ireland.  Our destination for the day was the Dingle Peninsula as our hostess Mary recommended we go there instead of returning to the Ring of Kerry.  Good call.  After a quick breakfast, we jumped in the car, and in less than an hour we were ready to tackle the Slea Head Drive.  I was feeling a little better about driving, but my confidence was soon diminished by the challenging roads in this area.  The land opened up before us as we drove on, and we finally beheld the intense green of Ireland.  

We drove past the first few pullouts, but I couldn’t resist the one that had a sign touting the ancient beehive huts.  The site is well maintained by one of the historical preservation societies.  After a steep walk up to the area, we made it to the top of the hill, we were amazed by the ancient stonework that is estimated to be at least four-thousand years old.  These huts were family dwellings based on construction of stone rings, and they were used by pre-historic tribes and families through 1200 AD.  After exploring this ancient compound, I like to think that even the most distinguished archeologist would say, “This place is really cool.”  

I walked to one of the highest points on the site, and as I slowly turned in a circle, I could see the blue green backdrop of the Atlantic ocean.  The stone dwellings were in the middle of sweeping green hills, laced with old crumbling stone walls and dotted with sheep.  The sun cast huge shadows from clouds on the sides of the hills, and the whole, immense collision of history and impossible beauty took my breath away.  A moment like this is a rarity in a life, and I made sure to file it away in my memory and praise God for allowing my little family to stand in this place.

Beehive Huts

Cross

I navigated the twists and turns of the tiny highway until we made it to Slea Head, one of the few places to access the beach at the bottom of huge stone cliffs looking out to the Blasket Islands.  We lucked out and found a parking place and walked down old stone steps to the beach where there were families set up for the day with tents, towels, and picnic baskets.  Teens played with hurling sticks (more on this later) and small children splashed in the surf.  The several hundred yards of beach is encased by cliffs which seem to barely contain the surge of the Atlantic.  Myrtle Beach it ain’t.  We enjoyed taking pictures here, and I managed to sneak off and find another fun geocache hidden in a cleft of one of the cliffs.  We hiked back to the car and spent the next hour driving back to the town of Dingle mostly in silence due to the enormity of the things we had seen that morning.

Slea Head Beach

We arrived in Dingle tired and hungry, and the kids voiced their desire for a fish ’n’ chip lunch, so we managed to find cheap parking and walked to the first seafood restaurant on the main drag.  Our lunch was delicious, and we’re becoming addicted to the salt and vinegar combination.  We passed the town library on our way to lunch and decided to stop on the way back for more wifi and schoolwork.  Our County Cork card didn’t work here, but the librarian hooked us up with a temporary County Kerry card.  He was gruff but efficient, and went back and forth between speaking Gaelic and English depending on whom he was serving.  Most of the signs around Dingle are in Gaelic, more than I’ve seen anywhere else so far.  

We made the drive back to our familiar Kanturk and rewarded ourselves with soft-serve cones, another growing addiction, at the Supervalu where we shopped for groceries to get us through the next day.  The driving today was the most challenging for me so far.  I consider myself a careful and confident driver at home, but I have been unsure of myself all week and still unable to gain perspective of the car’s position on the road.  The typical two-lane road in the USA, even out in the country, has ample space for two cars and a wide shoulder.  The typical two-lane road in Ireland has barely enough space for two cars, much like the driveway at a house, and there is no shoulder, none.  The road stops at a ten foot wall of brambles, hardwoods, or stone depending on the area.  No margin for error.  If a large truck is approaching at a great rate of speed, I feel that death is imminent for me and my family.  I won’t harp on the driving situation anymore while we’re in Ireland, but I may have a few closing remarks upon the blessed return of the rental car—if there’s anything left of it.

Another sunny morning helped mask the gloom we were feeling knowing that we had to say goodbye to Mary and Flossie and leave the rural comfort of Andrahan Farm.  Fortunately, Mary had time to spare, and she joined us for breakfast and told us more stories about her house and the complicated politics of Ireland.  We learned that her house is 210 years old and was built for an agent in the service of a wealthy landlord.  The practices of these agents were comparable to those of the tax collectors described in the New Testament.  The children sat wide-eyed as Mary passionately recounted the “troubles” back in the days of the IRA and Bloody Sunday, and it was interesting to hear her perspective on Brexit as well.  We packed the car and Mary gave us each a hug and kiss on the cheek as I choked back tears.  We took a picture with Mary and the kids which I’ll post below—be sure to check out the finish on the front door.  We’re off to Ennistimon and the wonders of County Clare, but I’ll always have a special place in my heart for Mary.  I think I’ll remember her best for what she would exclaim with her Irish lilt every time my daughter entered the room:  “My, isn’t she lovely!”

Joseph, Mary, and Deveny

Ireland - Mallow

Our first Sunday in Ireland began with a bit of labor, and thanks to the wonders of modern pharmacology, I felt refreshed after finally getting a full night’s sleep.  I did a little prep work on the front door the previous evening and started varnishing as the sun came up with the cattle lowing in the pasture behind me.  After an hour, I had the door looking amber and shiny as a brand new boat deck, and I could officially call myself an Irish painter.

Before leaving North Carolina, we did a little research on evangelical churches in County Cork, and we found one in the town of Mallow, about thirty miles away.  We had the farmhouse to ourselves; so we cooked up a big breakfast of eggs, toast with fresh butter, and blueberries and raspberries covered with yogurt—it was party good.  Flossie circled the table hoping for a bite but had to settle for her usual fare served in a big metal bowl outside the back door.

Everyone got ready and headed out the door for church just like we do at home—late.  No one complained about my driving until we got into town, and for some reason the GPS couldn’t find the street on which the church was located.  Mallow is a fairly large town, and we had no idea which way to go.  I just started making turns being forced on by tailgating drivers with no love in their hearts.  After the fifth or sixth turn, we looked ahead and spotted a large banner sporting a cross and the words "Mallow Bible Fellowship"—unbelievable.  I guess the same great God who has protected us on these Irish roads saw fit to guide us into the most appreciated carpark in the world.  The Mallow Youth Centre hosts the Bible Fellowship, and services are held in the gym with praise songs and hymns followed by tremendous preaching.  The pastoral staff was comprised mostly of American missionaries, and the congregation was a mix of Irish, African, and European believers.  The pastor’s sermon focused on the Church, not a building but the true believers in the world from the day of Pentecost until the return of Christ.  We were so glad to hear this message, and our resolve to show our children the worldwide Church was strengthened.  We enjoyed some great fellowship with the pastors over tea and biscuits after the service, and Joseph was a bit disappointed to learn that the Irish call cookies "biscuits", not the Bojangles variety for which he was hoping.

We had no solid plans for the afternoon; so we ended up at a small McDonalds near the town square and took advantage of some free wifi to catch up on school, blogging, and Facebook.  After an easy drive back to Kanturk, we went to our cherished supermarket where we’re becoming the novelty American family and picked up some crusty bread and produce for supper.  Mary was back home when we returned to the farmhouse, and we had coffee and tea as she told us stories of cows calving and recent Irish history.  She shared sightseeing tips and gave us a lesson on skimming fresh cream from a pot of milk.  I enjoyed its rich flavor and texture in my coffee.  We headed to bed tired but fulfilled—the Dingle Peninsula is in our sights for tomorrow.

Ireland - Kanturk

The place where we're staying for a few days has no internet; so I’m posting several days of experiences at one time and will probably need to do this every so often depending on connectivity issues. 

We picked up the car from the Dublin airport and were pleasantly surprised with the ample room it has both for luggage and passengers.  I was NOT pleased with the stick shift on the wrong side and everyone in this green country driving on the wrong side of the road.  Talk about trial by fire—imagine getting out of any airport under those circumstances—more on driving later.

Our next stopover was a farmhouse a few miles outside the little village of Kanturk in County Cork, about three hours from Dublin.  Our hostess had contacted us and told us that our room wouldn’t be ready until 5:00 that afternoon, so we had a lot of time to kill.  The drive to Kanturk was fairly uneventful since most of it was thankfully on a major four-lane highway.  All exits are on the left, the slow lane is one the left—everything is on the confounded left.

We found a centrally located place to park the Peugeot and walked around the town a bit until we found a cheap bite to eat.  Like in England, the fries here are called chips, and the salt and vinegar coating is compelling.  We also found the supermarket and scouted out some things we could buy later for meals and were glad to see that we could get some real bargains if we worked at it a little.

With still more time on our hands, we walked to the town library to get some free wifi and allow the kids time to do a little schoolwork.  The old library was small but well organized and almost empty.  We discovered that one needs a library card to access the internet on the desktop computer and the wifi network, and one needs a local address to obtain this card.  The friendly librarian took pity on us, gave us forms, checked our passports, and we are now proud County Cork library card holders—yes!

Kanturk Library

We finished our business in the library, went shopping for groceries then sat in the car about ready to panic.  We realized earlier that AirBnB had not provided the house number and street name for our lodging, and a call to the homeowner had gone unanswered—what to do?  Somehow Deena remembered an email thread from way back in which the homeowner mentioned the name of her house, "Ardrahan".  She did a search and came up with a dairy farm with this name located a few miles from town, and we decided to go for it not knowing if this address was correct.  Of course we went out of Kanturk in the wrong direction; so we ended up with a ten-mile drive on winding country roads, through cow pastures, all the while trying to avoid getting run over by tractors and combines.  Then, by some miracle of Google, we pulled up to a gate with a sign that read "Ardrahan."  We turned into the drive and about a quarter mile later, pulled up to a two-story stucco farmhouse that matched the picture on the website—Praise the Name!!!

We were greeted at the door by our hostess, and she whisked us into the kitchen for coffee, tea, and rhubarb pie—a treat I haven’t enjoyed since my grandmother made it for me thirty years ago.  Mary is a delightful dairy farmer’s widow who has just recently opened her home to travelers—we were her first booking, but she had hosted several families in the month prior to our visit.  She was accompanied by Flossie, an elderly overweight black lab who was very glad for visitors willing to scratch her wrinkled head.

The children were happy to be out of the car and ready to walk around outside and photograph the amazing views from the farmhouse; so off they went.  Mary was in the middle of her tour when she remarked that she should tell the children about the electric fence circling the property.  We all walked out and found them beside the fence—Deveny laughing and our Eagle Scout sheepishly admitting to being zapped while trying to climb through, sighhhh…..

After settling in, we enjoyed a hearty farmhouse dinner of soup, bread, and cheese and watched a little of the Olympics from the Irish perspective after our meal.  As Americans, we’re used to our athletes competing in prime time and devouring the competition while the commentators with their perfect clothes, hair, and teeth embellish all the glory.  The Irish athletes we watched were competing in badminton and sailing and losing badly.  The big news of the day was that the men’s two man rowing team won a silver medal—Ireland’s only medal of the games so far. 

Next day, we had a quick breakfast and fed and walked Flossie as we had been charged with her care while our hostess went on an overnight trip to attend a wedding.  We struck out for the village of Kenmare, which we had chosen for our starting point on the Ring of Kerry, and ended up seeing about a third of what we had planned due to our misunderstanding of a few road signs.  Still, we were amazed by the beauty of the countryside.  We drove through Killarney National Park which had been planned for the following day, but we were glad that our journey took us that way.  I’ll post a picture of this park since words cannot describe its beauty, my goodness.

Killarney National Park

We spent a little time in the park at the Muckross Estate in the park, kind of an Irish Biltmore House, and then drove on to Ross Castle in Killarney where we learned about the history and construction of castles and town houses from the 15th century.  I even managed to find a creatively placed geocache down by the river in view of the castle—very cool.

After a full day we headed back to the farmhouse.  My feelings about driving to this point are running between extreme confidence and extreme terror—no middle ground.  Half the roads we’ve traveled so far are very narrow, and I’ve already lost the passenger-side mirror cover to something in the left rough while trying to avoid a large truck.  I’m still trying to get used to my passengers drawing quick breaths and occasionally screaming as I navigate southern Ireland.

Once we made it back to Kanturk, we stopped at the local hardware store to pick up some supplies for refurbishing Mary’s front door, a huge, regal mahogany specimen in need of refreshing.  I had offered to varnish it for her while still reeling in euphoria from the rhubarb pie.  We also stopped by the supermarket for dinner and breakfast items and headed back out to the countryside.  The rest of the day was spent performing prep work on the door, cooking dinner and doing some schoolwork before bed—we're looking forward to attending our first worship service of the trip tomorrow.  We still can’t shake the feeling that the trip so far is just a vacation and that we’ll be going home soon.  I wonder how long it will take to overcome that?

Deveny on a Country Road